


Fall Of The Mountain King

by Zanbaby



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bottom M'Baku, Caretaking, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Power Dynamics, Smut, Soft M'Baku (Marvel), Teasing, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanbaby/pseuds/Zanbaby
Summary: M'Baku turns up injured the same day he loses his fight for leadership against T'Challa, but the new king shows his rival that he has only compassion for him, and things develop rather quickly once M'Baku is in his bed~
Relationships: M'Baku/T'Challa (Marvel)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Fall Of The Mountain King

A cool breeze travels from the mountains, shaking the acacia trees and making the tall grass rattle against the backdrop of crickets chirping. The land sings with the energy of people celebrating, and the thrum of the vibrant city at the heart of it blends seamlessly with the sounds of nature outside his window.

T’Challa is officially king of Wakanda, and the celebration is still going on inside the palace. It’s late in the evening though, and the new monarch has long since excused himself from the ongoing party to soak in an hour of peace before he retires to bed.

He couldn’t be more proud of his home and of his people, but as he gazes out across the rolling plateau that stretches far into the trees and mountains, something much nearer catches his eye.

T’Challa frowns, a bemused smirk growing when he at first suspects a drunk partygoer to be the one passed out below his balcony, but on closer inspection, the tribal markings and durable snow boots tell a different story.

“M’Baku,” he murmurs, suspecting he had come down to seek a rematch or to crash the celebration out of sheer resentment.

Manoeuvring swiftly and stealthily after quickly donning his suit, T’Challa finds his visitor fully unconscious, face down in the dusty earth.

He tuts admonishingly and turns the larger man over, taking him in his arms before he lifts the ornate mask to reveal his face.

“Did you come to assassinate me?” T’Challa mutters the assumption, knowing it’s in poor taste to smirk the way he is doing, but he can’t help finding some amusement in the tenacity of his rival.

After hefting him over a shoulder and taking the harder route of returning up the side of the building he had much more ease descending, T’Challa lays the unconscious M’Baku down on his bed and changes out of his suit again.

The music downstairs continues to rumble. It sounds like Shuri has taken control and is DJing from her own playlist given the tempo and heavy bass that thrums through the floor. Even that doesn’t seem quite powerful enough to make the Jabari king stir though.

T’Challa approaches the bed and takes M’Baku’s mask off, setting it on the bedside table before sitting at an angle and examining the state of him.

His wounds still look fresh, like he’s refused to have them dressed and instead stormed off in a rage after his defeat earlier today.

It’s very likely that’s exactly what happened, T’Challa realises, and so he departs to the en-suite to fetch a basin of warm water and a washcloth.

He bathes him in silence, his eyes roaming over the mountain king’s mighty body and doing his best to clean each laceration thoroughly. There seem to be a few wounds that he doesn’t recognise as his own handiwork, however, and thus prompts the question as to why M’Baku was unconscious in the first place.

Was he attacked by something on his way down from the mountains? Or was he even aiming to come to the palace in the first place? Perhaps he had a fight elsewhere, and dragged himself here in search of aid rather than to antagonise the new king.

Distracted in his thoughts, T’Challa doesn’t realise that he’s pressing a little hard on a wound, and M’Baku finally stirs, grumbling as his eyelids flutter.

T’Challa braces himself for a wayward punch or to be shoved off, but when M’Baku grasps lucidity and sees the face before him, the best he can manage is an offended look.

“What are you doing?” he demands to know, attempting to shuffle further up the bed to get away.

“Quiet now, quiet, my love... I will not hurt you,” T’Challa assures. 

“Y-your _what?!_ ” M’Baku retorts, his face flushing scarlet at the unforeseen endearment in T’Challa’s voice. “I am no love of yours! I do not—”

“Don’t move around so much,” T’Challa calmly interjects, “I am just tending to these… rather extensive wounds,” he enlightens with an expression that suggests he knows better than to think these cuts and bruises were all his work.

M’Baku has little to say in defence of himself beyond that, and though he tries to look displeased, he settles down and allows T’Challa to go on to dress them.

“How—”

“It is none of your business,” M’Baku immediately dismisses. He must have been anticipating the question, and true to his proud nature, he’s not going to make getting an explanation out of him easy.

T’Challa smiles and shakes his head, conceding willingly as he takes the basin back to the bathroom to empty. It probably _isn’t_ any of his business anyway.

“You can stay here tonight until you are well enough to leave,” the newly crowned king informs, nodding conclusively as he then heads to the door.

M’Baku looks confused and a little affronted by the hospitality, and more than anything he looks totally out of place in T’Challa’s huge bed, alone.

“Wait,” he asks rather than orders. “Where will you sleep?”

“I will take one of the guest bed—”

“No,” M’Baku quickly interrupts again. “That is… not right,” he declares, shuffling over to one side; a little stiff with the ache of battle setting in. “You will sleep here… with me.”

T’Challa knows better than to flash him that suave smile. He’ll undeniably change his mind if he feels he’s being teased, and so the Wakandan king just nods graciously and steps out of his slippers to join the other man in bed.

There’s some shuffling and grunting as a slight air of awkwardness sets in, and long after T’Challa has gotten comfortable on his side — as far away from M’Baku as he can be — the mountain dwelling warrior continues to toss and turn.

“Perhaps if you—”

“Do not bother me when I’m trying to sleep,” M’Baku snaps. There’s no threat behind his words though. It’s him who feels threatened, T’Challa realises.

This is a foreign situation, and he’s already weak through injury. For someone as prideful and strong as M’Baku, it’s only natural that his response to being vulnerable is hostility.

For that reason, though, T’Challa can only smile and have patience. What matters more than M’Baku’s manners is the fact that he actually let himself accept help, even by someone he currently deems a rival, and that sensibility tells him that M’Baku isn’t half as arrogant as he lets on.

The great man beside him is still huffing and wincing and making it painfully apparent that he’s struggling to get comfortable with his mind preoccupied by the soreness in his body.

T’Challa sighs and rolls over; placing a hand on M’Baku’s chest as she shuffles up against him and immediately pretends to go to sleep.

“N-now what are you doing?” M’Baku grumbles, sounding far less perturbed by this development for some reason.

“Hush now. Just try to get some sleep,” T’Challa supplies, only serving to embarrass the restless warrior further.

“That’s it, I’m leaving!” M’Baku bashfully declares, making the bed bounce as he tries to escape, but he exacerbates a torn muscle in his shoulder as he does, and it forces him to hiss and halt.

T’Challa sits up and sighs.

“If you will not rest with me beside you and you will not rest with me against you, it is apparent that my first instinct was right and that I should leave you to rest alone,” he rationalises.

“No. I… said you can’t leave,” M’Baku maintains, nursing his shoulder as his legs hang off the edge of the bed, but he makes no further attempts to leave.

“Then what can I do to make you more comfortable?” T’Challa graciously extends.

He gets no reply, but it seems there’s something just under the surface that M’Baku refuses to say.

A kiss on the shoulder makes him start at first, but he turns his head just a little to see the king of Wakanda sitting up behind him and gently massaging his back.

“I was ashamed,” the mountain king finally admits. “I don’t believe in you or your sovereignty. I should have beaten you, and yet even without the power of the Black Panther you bested me…”

He seems just to be thinking out loud, but as a benevolent king, T’Challa says nothing. It is his duty to listen to his people, and that means all of them.

“It was a mountain lion,” M’Baku grumbles. “And I only just bested him, too…”

If T’Challa isn’t mistaken, that was a hint of drollness from the ornery warrior, and he responds with a soft laugh as M’Baku finally turns his head to meet his gaze and returns something of a smile.

“What were you thinking?” T’Challa humours him, chancing to take a jibe at the other man in the hopes he is lightening up.

M’Baku turns away again with a shake of his head, evidently grinning at the absurdity of the rather childish tantrum that landed him here, in bed with the king of Wakanda.

“Maybe I just thought I’d get lucky and wind up sleeping in a palace regardless,” M’Baku jests. “Even if I have to end up sharing his majesty’s toys,” he says with a cordialness that wasn’t there before.

“Is that what you want?” T’Challa murmurs softly, encouraging M’Baku to look at him again and boldly testing that assertion by planting a kiss on his lips.

Whether in shock or revelation, the Jabari king falls immediately silent after they break.

T’Challa anticipates the possibility that he’s about to be shoved away and M’Baku will storm out for good this time, but it could only go one of two ways… and instead, T’Challa finds himself being pushed down rather than away.

“I thought as much,” the Black Panther confirms, grinning as M’Baku tries to assert himself by leading the kiss this time, pinning the king down as he wished he could have in battle.

He’s unable to hold himself up for long though, and he collapses to the side panting after donating every breath in his body to the kiss.

T’Challa smiles fondly and caresses the side of his face.

“You are tired, my love,” he points out, “why not let me?”

The slight narrowing of his eyes and the flash of his teeth that imply his confident nature have M’Baku quick to succumb, and he drags a hand over his mouth to wipe away some perspiration as he turns onto his back with a groan.

Those powerful thighs beg to be bitten as T’Challa prowls up between them, his shoulder blades popping in canon as he ducks down and lifts both M’Baku’s calves onto his shoulders, mouthing his way up the inside of them.

M’Baku’s eyes turn glazed as he watches the display; how genuinely catlike and supple T’Challa is in his movements, and it’s all he can do to unlatch the buckle keeping his wolf-skin pelt pinned at his hip.

T’Challa isn’t the least bit surprised to find that’s all he’s wearing to retain his modesty, and the sight of his fat sheath and dark, plum balls sitting heavy between the meeting of his glorious thighs has the king tempted to reach down and take his own cock in hand.

He refrains for the sheer pleasure of paying worship to the other man’s body a little longer though, clasping his lips around a portion of stretch-marked flesh and running his tongue over the soft ladders.

M’Baku moans like he’s been waiting all day for it; like he knows just how magnificent he is and of _course_ it’s right that he receives such attention.

The thought makes T’Challa smile as he descends. This stubborn, heavy-handed warrior is proving himself to be quite the teddy bear in bed… or perhaps a kitten is a more appropriate comparison, given the way he purrs.

The Jabari king cants his head back when he feels T’Challa’s talented tongue pushing against his asshole; his nose right up against his taint, and M’Baku relaxes to let him in.

“Perhaps you should give up diplomacy and just use your tongue for this,” M’Baku huffs a laugh as he sinks a hand into the tight, cropped curls on the other man’s head. “Anyone who cannot see eye to eye with you, you can simply—”

“Enough,” the wry royal smirks as he leans over to retrieve a bottle from his bedside table. “You would do just as well to not use your tongue at all,” he teases right back.

“Are you— are you silencing me?!” M’Baku assumes, getting riled up again.

“Not directly, though if I have to be more forceful I will,” T’Challa replies with a little less lust and a little more command in his tone as he pushes on the other man’s chest to get him to submit again.

“S-spoiled prince,” M’Baku grumbles, trailing off into a sharp gasp when a slick finger enters him unannounced.

“There’s a good boy,” T’Challa croons, watching how the urge to fight the praise and the feeling of being dominated flickers in those wild eyes for a moment before pleasure wins out and M’Baku cants his head back and moans.

Playing with his body like this; a man of his stature and raw physical power admittedly has T’Challa straining to keep a hold of himself.

He wants to be inside him, but to rush something of such importance is not how a true king would do things, so he makes do with the pleasure of feeling M’Baku relaxing under his ministrations; letting him deeper into his body and seeing him prone and blushing like surely only few have ever had the luxury of witnessing.

His cock is already starting to dribble, buoying with each touch to his prostate and making his head ruddy as it emerges from the lipped sheath.

“You are beautiful,” T’Challa purrs as he leans down to kiss the other man’s jaw.

M’Baku tries to resist the compliment, but he’s growing more and more susceptible to the young king’s advances; if it gets any more susceptible than letting himself be fingered by him, that is.

“Are you ready?” T’Challa then asks, pushing up between his thighs to let M’Baku feel his bulge against him.

The Jabari king nods ardently, a frown of concentration on his brow as he awaits T’Challa to take his cock out of the confines of his rather strained underwear and line up with him.

“I will be gen—”

“No,” M’Baku grunts, gripping T’Challa by the hips and pulling him in closer to the point that he swallows his cock whole.

Both let out a sound of satisfaction as their bodies connect; T’Challa groaning at the warmth of being enveloped in M’Baku, and M’Baku at the bliss of being filled so generously.

“Start m-moving,” M’Baku growls, trying to regain some control after having been wooed so aptly by the new king.

T’Challa doesn’t even try to argue who’s in charge here; he just gives the other what he wants and begins to fuck him slowly.

“You see,” he sighs, “we are not enemies. We are brothers.”

“D-do not say such an absurd thing when you have your cock inside of me!” M’Baku fumes, blushing down to his neck.

T’Challa rolls his eyes and keeps his pace. “You know what I meant,” he insists, grabbing for the lube and attempting to implement a little more ease of movement into the matter.

M’Baku throws his head back hard when T’Challa is able to suddenly speed up, and soon the pair of them are panting almost loud enough to rival the noise downstairs.

T’Challa knows that the other man is close when his grip tightens and his hands are on his buttocks, urging him deeper and harder inside him as his voice starts to snag in his throat as he implores him to keep going.

“I— I’m—”

“I know,” T’Challa understands, touching his forehead to M’Baku’s as he ruts into him; hips slapping against his plush ass. “Just hold on, my love,” he encourages, “just a moment longer~”

M’Baku growls, clenching around him as he tries hard to stave off and wait for the other man to cum at the same time as him, and with the fierce bed rocking it’s a wonder no one has come up to investigate yet.

“I cannot,” M’Baku admits with a low heave, pressing his head back into the pillow as his fingers leave dimples in T’Challa’s skin.

He needn’t anymore though; T’Challa is right there, and they both let go, M’Baku arching hard as T’Challa stills before cumming deep inside him.

“F-fuck!” M’Baku cries out before they both collapse, panting.

M’Baku actually welcomes T’Challa onto his chest as he pulls out of him though, and the king chuckles through a wispy breath as M’Baku turns onto his side and holds him; his breathing coming more heavily as he lets his eyes fall shut and sweat drip down his face.

“There,” T’Challa then tuts soothingly as he takes the corner of the sheet to wipe the other man’s brow. “You did well, my love,” he croons.

M’Baku barely responds besides licking his lips and breathing deeply through his nose, but he seems oddly content to cuddle up to T’Challa even as the rapture of his orgasm starts to subside.

The mess beneath sheets will be pretty substantial T’Challa grimly imagines for a moment, but a bath can come later once they have both recovered. For now, it’s nice just to hold one another and breathe together.

“You are… something else, I will give you that much,” is the first thing to leave M’Baku’s mouth once he’s able to actually form words again, and T’Challa chuckles softly as he reaches up to gently trace his thumb over the other man’s bottom lip.

“I will be a good king, you will see,” he promises.

M’Baku just grunts, but surprisingly… he seems almost convinced. So much so, that he sleeps soundly for the rest of the night in the arms of his king.

**Author's Note:**

> i keep wanting to write really tender, majestic sex scenes but lately it just keeps ending up as rampant fucking 🙄 anyway hope y'all enjoyed~


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